


Shameless

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim figures out that Blair's attracted to him before Blair does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shameless

**Author's Note:**

> Oddly enough, this story was inspired by the wonderful Glo-Ro vid by the same name. 

## SHAMELESS

by ROXANNE

Author's webpage: <http://www.angelfire.com/ga4/garett/senslash.html>

* * *

**SHAMELESS**  
By Roxanne 

Jim Ellison's trip into the Sandburg zone didn't begin with any big moment. There was no bang ... no Holy Grail time. It wasn't the least bit heart-stopping, gut-wrenching, or even spine-tingling. No, the trip Jim took began with a little move so casual, so simple that he almost missed its significance when it happened. But it was very significant ... practically earth shattering, if the truth be known. And it all started one cold Cascade night ... 

The detective and his permanent, official partner, Blair Sandburg, had just finished a double shift at Cascade PD. They'd been working overtime all week due to a nasty flu epidemic hitting Cascade, Washington in general and the Major Crimes Unit in particular. Both men had remained healthy as horses while lesser men and women in the crack unit dropped like flies around them. It was 3 a.m. and Jim was tired and hungry and more than a little cranky. 

To make matters worse, he had to drive their captain and friend, Simon Banks, home before he could even think about heading to his place. Simon lived clear on the other side of town, so instead of being able to drive straight to 852 Prospect and crawl into a nice warm bed, Jim had to make the 35-minute trip to the south side suburb and then double back towards the harbor and his and Sandburg's loft. 

Simon's car had been fixed for three days but he hadn't had a free minute to pick it up. At least that's the story he was telling Jim. Jim, on the other hand, had come to believe that Simon just enjoyed being chauffeured around by his minions, especially in nasty weather. That way he didn't have to clean his own windshields or get into a cold car first thing in the morning. Jim hated getting into cold cars first thing in the morning but he didn't have a choice. 

If Blair's car had been running, he would have insisted that Blair drive so Simon would have at least had to fold himself up into the tiny backseat for the trips to and from work. If nothing else worked, that would probably be incentive for Simon to get his own car picked up. But with Jim's luck being the way it was, the Volvo was sitting at a different garage waiting for a new water pump to be shipped over from Sweden. It was due in any day now. Sometimes he really hated Sandburg's car. 

Jim didn't hate Sandburg though and he really didn't mind driving him around. As a matter of fact, he preferred it. Jim loved the feel of driving that great big truck of his. He felt in control and he really liked sitting up higher than the other vehicles ... gave him a clearer view of the streets. Blair's car was so low to the ground that he felt like he was getting asphalt burns on his ass when he rode in it. 

There was more to it than just cars though. He just liked being with Blair. They were partners. They were roommates. Hell, they were together practically every minute of every day. At times Jim thought all that closeness should bother him, but for some reason it didn't. After four years of being together, Jim just felt relaxed around Blair ... something he'd never truly felt with his dad, his brother, or even his ex-wife. He didn't have to pretend to be something he wasn't around Blair. Blair knew all Jim's secrets ... well, most of them anyhow. Yeah, with Blair he could just be Jim Ellison, detective, Sentinel, all around great guy. 

So there they were, three detectives - two of who were pretty good-sized men - crowded into the cab of Jim's truck. Blair, being the shortest, youngest and least grouchy of the trio sat crammed in the middle, his feet perched up on the hump and his arms crossed in front of him, hands tucked in his armpits to keep warm. Jim had his right arm lying on the back of the seat and Simon had his briefcase on his lap. 

To say it was cozy in there would be a major understatement. They were so close that Jim felt like he could taste the garlic Simon had with dinner with every breath he took. Plus, the windows kept fogging up and Simon had one hand in his pocket and kept jingling his change for the whole trip. Blair, on the other hand, was unnaturally quiet. Jim could tell he was awake, but he wasn't talking at all. That was strange for Sandburg. Usually, he was providing a running commentary on anything from traffic patterns during rush hour in mid-sized cities in the Ukraine to the mating habits of the adult vicuna. That night though, he seemed to have made himself as small and unobtrusive as possible for the journey home. 

He really didn't need to bother. Jim didn't mind Blair being there at all. He kind of liked the feel of Blair pressed up against him as he drove through the deserted city streets. He liked the way Blair's hair felt as it brushed against his cheek and the way Blair's thigh rested against his. Blair felt nice. He always smelled good too. He had kind of a clean, but masculine scent that Jim found very pleasing to be around. 

The gods were on his side that night and Jim made it all the way to Simon's house without an accident or a major terrorist threat. He'd worried for the entire trip that a phone call that would send the three men back to the station would ruin his plans for a good night's sleep. It didn't. All three department cell phones were blissfully silent for the entire trip. Jim finally pulled into Simon's drive at 3:42, told his captain good night and threw the truck into reverse without waiting to see if Simon made it into his house safely. 

Jim was halfway home before he realized that Sandburg was still sitting pressed up against his side. While Jim had started out riding with his right arm perched on the back of the seat, at some point it had slipped off to lay on his partner's shoulders. Blair didn't mention it and it felt kind of nice like that. As a matter of fact, Blair was still being unusually quiet, so Jim kind of figured he was half asleep. Not really knowing if he should say anything about Sandburg being next to him and not really caring enough to, Jim just kept silent and rode the rest of the journey with his arm around Blair. He figured it probably kept the guy warmer that way anyhow. 

An hour and a half after getting off work, Jim finally arrived home. He found a spot right in front of Colettes, parked the truck and headed for the loft with Sandburg trailing behind. When they got to their apartment, Jim darted into the bathroom to pee. By the time he got out, Blair was asleep on the couch. He'd scrunched up on his side with his head on the arm of the sofa. His hair fell across his face in tangled brown curtain. 

Jim gently pushed the hair from Blair's face, pulled his shoes off, and then covered him with the Navajo blanket that always hung on the back of the sofa. He could hear the soft snuffling noises Blair made when he slept as he went to the kitchen and ate a bowl of cereal, then headed up to his room for some rest. Jim was asleep before his head hit the pillow. 

Simon called at 8 a.m. to beg another ride to work. He also informed Jim that they'd only be working one shift that day, but that it wouldn't be over until 8 p.m. When Jim had come down to answer the phone, he'd noticed that Blair had moved from the couch into his own bed sometime during the night. He must have been really beat if he hadn't heard Sandburg get up. 

Jim hung up the phone and then went over to bang on Sandburg's door. That didn't wake him up, so Jim went in and shook his shoulder. He had some trouble finding it through the layers of blankets and was forced to take a moment to grope blindly amongst the comforters. Sandburg felt so warm and cozy under there that he was tempted to lift the covers and crawl in. But he didn't ... he just shook harder. Blair finally grumbled out some muffled curses, so Jim left him and headed into the bathroom to start his shower. 

That morning when they got to the truck Blair climbed into the passenger seat as usual, then scooted to the middle when Simon got in. He never mentioned what had happened the previous night, so Jim didn't either. Maybe it had been just that he'd been too tired to move. 

When they finally got off work at 9:30 that night, Simon needed a ride to the motor pool. The mechanic that had been working on his car had obligingly agreed to meet him at the shop since it didn't look like Simon would ever get his car picked up otherwise. Jim had overheard the conversation when he was getting coffee, so there was no getting out of it for Simon this time. 

The motor pool was on a totally different side of town from the loft and PD. It took a good 30 minutes to get there, but the lights were still on in the garage and music was blaring from a radio inside when Jim pulled into the parking lot. He drove up close to the door, stopped to let Simon out, then made a U-turn and peeled back onto the highway that led to home. 

Just like he had the night before, Blair rode the entire rest of the journey home in his spot in the center, pressed against Jim's side. Once again, Jim left his arm draped over Blair's shoulders. It hadn't so much slid off the back of the seat as been placed there, but Blair didn't seem to mind. He also didn't seem to be any more awake than he was the night before, so Jim just let him stay where he was. Jim was feeling pretty damn charitable about the whole thing anyhow. 

This time, the two men both made it to couch to watch a little TV before turning in. Jim had found some leftover Thai that he zapped in the microwave for their dinner while Blair tried to return a call to Naomi. Carrying the plates into the living room, he found Blair sitting in the absolute center of the sofa. Usually Blair just kind of curled into a little ball in a corner. Jim would take the opposite corner and that would be how they spent the evening. This night, for some reason only Blair could know, he sat in the center of the couch. Jim took his usual corner, but instead of having the requisite several feet of distance between he and his roommate, now there were only inches. 

That expanse narrowed when Blair scooted closer to grab a spring roll off Jim's plate. Jim took a swipe at Blair's hand; Blair ducked and came to rest leaning against Jim's side. Instead of sliding back away, Blair gave him a tired little grin and curled up in the hollow made by Jim's body. Jim dropped his arm down around Blair's shoulders as Blair rested his head against Jim's chest. They stayed like that until Blair drifted off and Jim's arm fell asleep. 

"Hey Chief," Jim said softly. "Wake up. You're killing me here." 

"Hrpfmmm" 

Jim snorted at the response, then gently eased himself out from under his partner. He moved a pillow under Blair's head, pulled his feet up onto the couch and draped the blanket over him again. Jim let himself indulge in lightly caressing Blair's face, then pushed back a silky strand of hair from in front of the closed eyes before heading up to bed. If he'd had the nerve, he'd have dropped a kiss on the end of Blair's nose, but Blair wasn't some little kid that he was tucking in for the night. So Jim just heaved a great big sigh and trudged up to his room wondering the whole time about what was happening to him. 

Jim couldn't wait to see how Blair handled the ride home the next day since there would just be the two of them in the truck again. Since they didn't have to pick Simon up in the morning, Blair had stayed on the passenger side for the whole trip in. Jim wondered at his own disappointment when for the trip home Blair again strapped himself into the passenger side and began drumming a beat on the dashboard. Why should he care that Blair wasn't crowding him? He was a big guy. He needed elbow room. He should enjoy having all that extra space ... but he didn't. 

Blair's car was finally fixed that night and it was his turn to cook dinner, so Jim let him off at the garage and headed to the gym to work off some of his nervous energy. After doing three circuits on the Nautilus equipment and twenty minutes on the Stair Master, Jim was finally exhausted enough to quit. Strange thoughts were still spinning through his mind and no matter how many times he tried to blank them out, they just kept coming back. He'd spent the entire time he'd been walking up those damn two steps thinking about how cute Blair had looked trying to stay awake during the staff meeting that morning. 

Jim had amused himself through the boring meeting by letting Blair's head almost drop to his chest before kicking his chair each time he'd nod off. Each time the chair jerked, Blair's head would pop up and his eyes would get round and huge for about a minute before his eyelids would start to droop again. Jim got to do that three times before the room got unnaturally quiet and Jim noticed that everybody else was staring at him. 

"Having fun?" Simon had drawled sarcastically. 

Jim mumbled "Sorry, sir," then started shuffling the papers in front of him. 

After that the meeting was no fun at all. 

That night Jim got to the couch first and decided for no good reason to sit right in the center of it. Blair carried his laptop in, sat in one of the side chairs and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He hardly said a word as he composed his weekly e-mail to Naomi. Jim figured he was writing a goddamn book and went to bed early that night with a splitting headache. 

On Saturday, the two men decided to go to a movie. Jim wanted to see the new Van Damme flick, but Blair talked him into sitting through two Boris Karloff classics at the Rialto. They were funny in a campy sort of way, but when Dr. Frankenstein's monster first came to life, Blair actually jumped and grabbed Jim's hand in terror. He held on with a death grip through the entire scary scene. The death grip eased up when the first movie ended, but Blair continued to hold onto Jim's hand until the end of the second film. 

Jim couldn't concentrate on either movie after that. He kept feeling Blair's hand in his and thinking about how warm it was and kind of soft for a guy's hand. He really wanted to pull his own hand up just to sniff it ... to see how much of Blair's scent would stay with him, but he was pretty sure that Blair would be offended by that. When the lights came up, Blair dropped his hand, brushed the popcorn from his lap, stood and grabbed his coat. 

"What do you want for dinner tonight? My treat since I made you sit through that." 

Jim wasn't sure if the "that" was the movies or the hand holding. He was kind of surprised that he hadn't really minded either. They went to Salerno's for dinner that night and sat in a back booth with a checkered tablecloth and a candle on the table. It was pretty cramped and Blair's legs kept brushing again Jim's as they ate their lasagna. Afterwards, Jim stopped at Dairy Queen and bought them both banana splits for dessert. 

On Sunday, they cleaned the loft, did laundry and ran errands. There was a game on that night and when Blair came into the living room with nachos, Jim pulled him down next to him and started eating off his plate. Blair slapped at his hands playfully, but he didn't really seem to mind sharing at all. It was colder than usual that night, so Jim wrapped them both in the blanket while they watched the Jags continue their losing streak. This time Jim fell asleep in front of the TV. He woke up at about 12:30 with a crick in his neck and found himself stretched out on the couch with a pillow under his head and the blanket covering his long body. 

Monday morning, Blair announced that he had a date that night and would drive to work separately. For some reason, Jim spent the entire day pissed off at the world. He snapped at Joel for borrowing his stapler and not returning it. He told Rafe his new cologne made him smell like a French whore. He even called H "Porky" when he leaned over Jim's desk and dropped donut crumbs on an open case file. By quitting time, everybody was ready for the day to be over. 

Blair disappeared into the locker room at five 'til six and emerged a few minutes later wearing black leather pants and a white silk shirt. He had a leather jacket held over his shoulder by one finger and earrings in every hole. His hair was loose and the fluorescent lights seem to make the golden bits shine even brighter. Detective Marchand whistled as he walked by while others just stopped and stared. Jim shot a glare of hatred at Pete Marchand, grabbed his coat and stormed from the squad room before he said something he'd regret. 

Just because he could, Jim stopped at Wonderburger and got the monsterburger, fries and a mocha shake. It didn't taste nearly as good as he'd hoped it would and he ended up throwing half the fries away. When he got back to the loft after beating a punching bag to death at the gym, he changed into sweats and parked himself in front of the TV. He flipped channels until he came to The Bride of Frankenstein, then turned the TV off and threw the remote onto the coffee table. The plastic back flew off and the batteries clattered to the floor. 

Jim stared at the guts of the remote for a while then grabbed the pieces and put it back together. Being pissed off for no reason was no fun, so he headed up to bed. Jim was still awake - staring at the ceiling \- when he heard Blair's car pull up. It was only 10:30, so chances were that his partner hadn't gotten lucky that night. That little thought seemed to brighten his mood considerably. Jim waited until Blair unlocked the door before he stretched out his sense of smell to fully check things out. 

There was a faint scent of gardenia, cabbage and what smelled suspiciously like Ben-Gay clinging to Blair, but no pheromones, no semen, no ... Jim couldn't think of a less prissy term than "female excretions". Poor guy! Jim chuckled to himself, then rolled over and went to sleep. 

"How was your date last night," Jim asked casually the next morning. 

He was eating a bowl of Cheerios and scanning the paper when Blair came into the kitchen and started pulling out the ingredients for his algae shake. 

"Great!" Blair beamed. "Natalie's great. I couldn't believe she wanted to go dancing. I took her to the Cascade Hilton. They've got this old ballroom and they had a big band and everything. Natalie kept up pretty good too, even with that plastic hip. I'll tell you ... she's pretty spry for 83." 

Blair leaped towards the table to slug Jim on the back as he choked on his morning coffee. 

"83? What the hell was that get-up for last night?" 

Jim sputtered out his question as he used a napkin to mop up drops of coffee from the front of his white shirt. Blair grabbed a sponge from the counter and wiped up the mess on the table as he talked. 

"Oh, some of the biddies at the teacher's retirement home have been making cracks about me being her toy boy, so we decided to give them something to talk about," Blair said nonchalantly. "Besides, she thinks I've got a cute ass." 

"Well she's right about the cute ass," Jim muttered under his breath as he made his way upstairs to change his shirt. 

Jim stood staring at his closet as he slid the hangers back and forth looking for a shirt to replace the one he'd soaked with coffee. Toy boy! How could Blair let people think that about himself? Did he have no shame? And who the hell was this Natalie? Probably some old hag that Naomi had buddied up to at some point ... or maybe some retired anthro instructor that had doted on Blair when he first came to Rainier. 

Jim's fingers slid over the denim work shirt he was thinking about wearing, then he pulled his hand away quickly. Toy boy! Moving to his dresser, he yanked out a drawer and reached in for the tightest t-shirt he could find. He threw the shirt over his shoulder and onto the bed, then squatted down and rummaged through the bottom drawer for the perfect pair of jeans to complete his outfit. 

When Jim came down the steps minutes later, Blair nearly spewed algae shake all over the table. Jim was now wearing a black t-shirt that was so tight Blair could see the outline of his nipples poking at the fabric. The jeans were worse ... or maybe better. They'd been washed so often that the color had faded to the same pale blue of Jim's eyes. While there were no obvious tears in the fabric, certain strategic points were now so threadbare that you could see skin right through them ... skin that was usually covered by white jockey shorts. The soft denim molded around Jim's ass and his crotch, leaving no doubt to anyone that looked that the man dressed left. 

Jim smiled brightly at the stunned expression on Blair's face, grabbed his coat and headed for the door. 

"You coming, Chief?" he called as he crouched down to retie his black combat boot. 

Blair gulped loudly, then stammered, "Just about ... I mean ... Yeah, I'm ready." 

Blair rode to work pressed so closely to the passenger door that Jim was afraid he'd fall out as they swung around a corner. Good thing he was wearing his seat belt. Whenever Jim would glance over, Blair's eyes would be focused on him, but then Blair would quickly turn his head to stare out the window. Jim tried to start a couple of conversations on the trip to work, but Blair kept stammering out single word answers, so he finally gave up and turned on the radio. 

Things stayed like that all day. Jim would look up and Blair's eyes that had been glued to Jim's chest or Jim's ass or Jim's crotch would suddenly dart away. If Jim tried to say anything like, "You want deli or Chinese today, Chief?" Blair would seem confused by the entire concept of lunch. They got some paperwork caught up on the diamond smuggling case they'd been working on, but that was about all that got accomplished. 

Pete Marchand stopped by around 3 and asked Jim if he'd like to have a beer with him after work that night. Jim agreed and since Blair was having such an uncommunicative day, he sent him home in the truck. Jim rode in Pete's car to Gabby's, a quiet little bar on Cascade's trendy east side. They found a table in the corner and had a couple of Heinekens and talked about sports. Pete was a Jags fan, of course, but when it came to football, the Chicago native's allegiance was still with the Bears. 

After two beers, Pete switched to coffee, but Jim downed a couple more bottles while they hammered out the details of their perfect starting line-up for the Jags. It was after eleven and Jim was feeling no pain when Pete suggested that it was time to move the party elsewhere. He picked up the tab for the drinks while Jim went to pee. As they stumbled out into the dimly lit parking lot, Jim wrapped an arm around his new friend's shoulders. He could use all the support he could get. 

Once outside of the bar, Jim got confused about where his truck was, but Pete steered him to the right car and even opened the door for him. Jim had a little trouble negotiating getting his long legs into the small opening, but Pete helped him bend his knees and he finally fell into the seat with an "oompf!" Once they finally got settled into Pete's Camry to head home, Pete leaned over and kissed Jim hard on the lips. 

"What the hell was that for?" Jim yelled as he shoved Pete away with both hands. 

Pete just smiled a little and laid his hand on Jim's crotch. 

"Just a goodnight kiss, Jim." 

And then Pete kissed Jim again. This time Jim let him. He liked Pete. Pete was smart and funny and he liked the way Pete smelled and tasted and he really liked having his dick stroked through the soft denim of his jeans. Pete's tongue was doing wonderful things to Jim's ear when Pete's fingers unzipped Jim's fly and pulled his dick free. When Pete's tongue began to do wonderful things to Jim's dick, Jim shot his load into Pete's mouth. 

"So what's the deal with you and Sandburg?" Pete murmured into Jim's ear before kissing him again. 

Pete's mouth tasted different now ... like Jim's dick must taste, he realized. Suddenly, kissing Pete wasn't quite as much fun as it had been moments before. Then there was the tone of voice Pete had used to ask his question. It just sounded kind of smarmy ... kind of dirty. It gave Jim the creeps. Pete didn't seem to notice the change in Jim's attitude. He had pushed Jim's t-shirt up and was busy sucking on one of Jim's nipples and pulling his own dick free. 

"You and Sandburg got kind of an open relationship going on, cause I think a three-way with him in the middle would be really hot." 

Jim shoved Pete away so hard this time that Pete's head hit the glass in the door behind him. 

"What'ya do that for?" he howled as he rubbed the growing lump on his head. 

"Take me home," Jim demanded like some kind of desecrated prom queen. 

Pete quickly started the engine and threw the car into gear, muttering about asshole queens and cocktease detectives the entire trip home. He barely slowed down for Jim to get out of the car and then zoomed off without a glance backward as Jim stumbled up to the building. When Jim got up to the loft, Blair was already in bed. Jim peeked through the French doors at his roommate who lay twisted in a tangle of blankets, then headed for the shower. Suddenly he felt very dirty. 

The next morning neither man said a word about the previous night. They talked about the weather over breakfast, but were silent for the trip to the PD. Jim wore his loosest pair of Dockers and a bulky sweatshirt to work that day. Pete called in sick with a throbbing headache. 

A call came in around noon about a murder in the warehouse district. Jim and Blair were first on the scene, discovering the gruesome remains of a kidnapping gone wrong among the stacks of empty palettes and filthy garbage bins. Bits of Monique Holloman's tiny body were scattered around a bed of filthy blankets. Bloody handprints could be seen on the floor and the remains of her clothes were soaked with it. Rats had begun to nibble on the small fingers and toes and the child's face. 

Blair ran around a corner and puked his guts out while Jim stoically dialed headquarters to call for the forensic team and medical examiner. When Blair returned, he kept one hand on Jim's arm while he scanned the surrounding area for clues. After pictures were taken and forensics had gathered up every bit of evidence they could find, the two men snapped on their latex gloves and began to investigate the murder scene themselves. 

Jim was going over the corpse after the separated parts were moved to a body bag when he spotted a bit of green cloth under one of the girl's remaining fingernails. He borrowed Sam's tweezers, pulled it out and stared at the frayed fabric. 

"Can you tell what it is?" Blair whispered as his eyes darted over to see if Sam was still watching them. She'd been giving the two of them nasty looks since she'd gotten there. 

"Looks like it's from some sort of military uniform. Right color." 

Jim rubbed his thumb over the tiny bit of cloth. 

"Feels right too." 

Blair stepped between Jim and Sam's line of sight. He raised up on tiptoes and got close to Jim's ear to talk further. 

"You getting anything else?" he asked in a low voice. 

"I don't know, Chief. It's ... too much ... too much ... gore. All I can smell is blood and urine and rat shit." 

"Close your eyes and breathe in. Now concentrate. Does anything smell different to you?" he directed as Jim tried to filter out the stench of blood and guts. 

Jim did as he was told and sucked in a lung full of air through his nose. Blair kept his hand wrapped around Jim's wrist as he closed his eyes and concentrated on the scents at the scene. The smell of almonds and honey and yogurt finally seeped into Jim's consciousness. Another breath in and he could also identify chalk dust and WD40. It wasn't much, but it was a start. 

After the crime scene was taped off and a rookie was left behind to guard the empty site, Jim, Blair and Joel headed out to talk to Monique's parents. Jim thanked god that they were both home together when the detectives got there, so Blair only had to say the words once. He could see bright tears glisten in Blair's eyes as he explained how their daughter had been found and what they were doing to catch her killer. And just as Mr. Holloman tried to comfort his sobbing wife by rubbing circles on her back, Jim did the same with Blair. 

Mr. Holloman finally got himself composed enough to explain to the detectives that Monique had gone missing the day before. They hadn't reported it to the police or the school because they'd received a ransom call over the lunch hour that threatened her death if they got anyone else involved. The two computer programmers had spent the rest of that day and night liquidating all their assets so that they could meet the ransom demands. But the second call telling them where to drop the money never came. All their money was still sitting in a plastic grocery bag on the dining room table. 

They hadn't recognized the voice of the caller or had the presence of mind to tape the message. They couldn't imagine who would be so vile as to do such a thing to their precious little girl or who knew they had the kind of money they had stashed away in various bank accounts. Jim couldn't offer them any logical reasons for the heinous crime. Mrs. Holloman finally got up and walked over to an antique rolltop desk to find a recent picture of Monique that they could use while Mr. Holloman wrote out the names of their daughter's best friends. 

Jim and Blair eventually left the two shattered adults in Joel's capable hands and next headed to Harrison Elementary School. Monique's homeroom teacher, Mr. Gaffigan, had called in sick that day. He hadn't said why. The principal began to cry as she explained to the two detectives that because there had been a substitute in his class that day, Monique hadn't been reported as missing. She didn't understand why Mr. Gaffigan hadn't reported her missing yesterday. She wrote out his home address on a square of paper that had lacy edges and a picture of a kitten on it and handed it to Blair. 

Jim and Blair had the former Army Ranger under arrest by six o'clock that evening. He wasn't talking, but when they identified themselves at his front door, he bolted past them and ran to his Jeep Wrangler. Bob Gaffigan was a solid 245 pounds of muscle ... a fair amount of which apparently resided in his head. Jim tackled him in the front yard and sat on his squirming body as Blair caught his flailing arms and handcuffed him. When he was finally subdued, Jim took the time to smell the man. The scent of honey and yogurt nearly bowled him over. 

A search of Gaffigan's house produced enough physical evidence to hold him for 48 hours. Jim had a sneaking suspicion that some DNA testing on the blood specks he'd found on Gaffigan's clothes would be enough to put the pervert away for the rest of his natural life. He also hoped that all those stories you hear about what other prisoners do to child molesters were true. 

It was close to midnight by the time Jim and Blair headed home. Jim had found that he'd kept a hand on Blair through the entire ordeal. Whether it was guiding him with a hand on the small of the back or just a touch on the arm, he had needed that connection to keep him from flying apart in the face of all that horror. By the time they got home, the urge to grab Sandburg and hold him in a tight embrace was almost overpowering. 

Blair had been quietly present the whole day ... offering suggestions and insight ... as Jim had taken the brunt of Gaffigan's abuse. Jim wasn't sure how he would have gotten through the day without Blair, but he knew that he never wanted to try. 

When they finally made it home, Jim headed up to bed without eating or showering and quickly fell into a fitful sleep. When he woke up screaming from nightmares of panthers devouring faceless little girls, Blair bounded up the steps, then climbed into bed and held him until the tremors stopped. When Blair tried to ease out from under the covers, Jim simply begged, "don't leave ... please." 

So the next morning when Jim woke up with a mouthful of hair and no covers, he wasn't all that surprised to find his roommate still in bed with him. Blair had moved so that he was laying with his back pressed against Jim's side and was totally cocooned in the down comforter. Jim spit out the hair as he yanked on the blanket. Blair rolled towards him as the comforter unwound and ended up with his face burrowed in the crook of Jim's neck and an arm slung over Jim's chest. It felt pretty good, so Jim let him stay that way and went back to sleep. When he woke up an hour later, Blair was downstairs mixing his algae shake. 

"How ya feeling?" Blair asked as the blender whirred to life. 

Jim waited for the little pause Blair always took before hitting the frappe button a second time and said, "Better. Sorry about last night." 

Blair smiled and said "no problem," then went back to pulverizing his breakfast. 

Jim was still a little shaky and when they got to the truck, he asked Blair to drive. Blair raised one eyebrow, but just took the keys from Jim and walked around to the driver's side without making a wiseass comment. Jim climbed in the passenger side and scooted over so that he was squarely in the middle of the seat. As Blair started the motor, Jim rested a hand on Blair's thigh. He felt rather than saw Blair's response. 

"Do you mind?" he asked while staring straight ahead. 

"No ... not at all." 

"Thanks. It just ... helps ... you know?" 

Blair patted Jim's hand gently. 

"I know." 

The day was dreadful. Albert Gaffigan had a million excuses about why he'd done what he'd done, but the bottom line was that he owed a ton of money for credit cards he'd used for gaining access to a number of Internet porn sites. The Hollomans were rich ... he'd heard the gossip ... and Monique was an easy target. But then she'd screamed horrible things at him when he had put his hand in her panties and even though he wore a mask, she'd recognized him by the scar on his left arm. He'd just tried to shut her up. The problem was, once he started cutting he couldn't stop. 

It was all Jim could do to keep from jumping across the interview table and throttling the sicko right then and there. But he sat calmly ... with Blair's hand underneath the table, resting on his leg through the whole thing ... and listened to the confession of a madman. When the interview was finally over, Jim went into the bathroom to be sick. Blair stood guard outside the stall, then led him over to a sink to clean up afterwards. 

Simon let them go home early that day. Blair had never relinquished the truck keys, so he just got in and drove them home. Jim had returned to his spot next to Blair, but had taken Blair's hand in his to hold for the trip. Once they got home, Blair got Jim situated on the couch and went in to make some soup. After they ate, he sat down next to Jim, pulled the larger man close and held him while he napped. 

When it was time for bed, Blair followed Jim up the stairs and climbed in with him. Jim figured it would just save Blair the hassle of running up when he started screaming from his nightmares. They both stripped down to boxers and t-shirts and climbed under the comforter in silence. Jim rolled onto his side with his back to Blair. He felt the mattress dip as Blair scooted closer and spooned up behind him. Blair wrapped an arm over Jim's and let his hand rest against Jim's stomach. It felt really nice, so Jim started to say so, but before he could open his mouth he heard Blair's soft snores. 

Jim drifted to sleep and slept the whole night through. In the morning, he woke up with the most amazing hardon. He could still hear Blair snoring, so he eased out of bed, grabbed his robe and headed to the shower. Inside the cool ceramic walls, Jim soaped his hands up and then reached down for his aching dick. Letting his fingers slide over the hardon, Jim thought about Pete Marchand's blow job. But the picture of his dick in Pete's mouth sort of morphed into his dick in Blair's mouth and Jim gasped out an "oh god!" as he sprayed come all over the shower curtain. 

"Don't use up all the hot water," Blair yelled through the closed door as Jim sat curled in the bath tub. Hard drops of water pelted his face and washed away his tears. 

"Only you would scrub down the shower curtain each morning!" Blair groused as he breezed by Jim on his way to his room. His hair was sparkling from the shower mist and he trailed a length of toilet paper that was stuck to his heel. "Lucky for you I washed my hair yesterday. I barely had enough hot water to rinse myself off." 

Jim was busy lining up the ingredients for pecan waffles when Blair came back out fully dressed, so he missed the questioning look in Blair's eyes. They had three days off and Jim felt like a big breakfast for a change. He wanted something homey ... comfort food. He was rummaging in the cabinet under the sink for the waffle iron he and Carolyn had gotten for a wedding present when Blair propped himself against the island to watch. He was dressed in black jeans and the black and white flannel shirt that Jim had given him for his birthday. 

"What'cha lookin' for?" Blair asked as Jim banged around. 

"Got it!" 

Jim held the waffle iron up triumphantly. 

"Where's the cord?" Blair asked as walked over to the table. He poured out two glasses of orange juice, then went back to leaning against the island. 

"Oh shit. How do you feel about pecan pancakes?" 

Blair smiled indulgently at Jim and took the waffle iron from his hand. 

"Here, let me look. I'm closer to the floor." 

Blair squatted down and Jim couldn't help but notice what a cute ass Blair really did have. It was nice and round, but firm and muscular and it shimmied just a little when he bent over. Jim was studying it a little too closely when Blair's head emerged from the cabinet. If he noticed where Jim was looking, he didn't mention it. 

Since they'd been so busy for the past couple of weeks, the day was spent catching up on errands, laundry and cleaning. They decided to divide and conquer, so while Jim mopped the hardwood floors, Blair ran to the grocery store, the health food store and the drug store. Jim left to get the oil changed in the truck while Blair cleaned the grout in the bathroom. 

Dinner was shrimp wraps that Blair made with Spanish rice, grilled shrimp, lettuce and cheese in a tortilla shell. Jim had three, then stuffed himself with tortilla chips and guacamole. They each had a Mexican beer with dinner, then carried another in to have while watching TV. 

Jim parked himself in the corner of the couch and Blair just plopped down next to him. He was soon leaning into Jim, then he got drowsy and laid his head on Jim's lap and started to snooze. Jim realized that he really liked the feel of Blair being so close. He absently played with Blair's hair as he watched the end of the hockey match. 

That night Blair went up to bed first. He didn't ask Jim if he wanted company, but Jim figured he was probably still concerned about Jim's nightmares. Jim wasn't that concerned about the nightmares. He'd had them for years. Sometimes he went for days with little or no sleep because his dreams were just too graphic to risk closing his eyes. The worst had been the dreams about killing Blair. Even through the hazy blue smoke that filled his mind, he'd been consumed by an implacable terror that seeped eerily into his waking hours. 

Blair was already asleep when Jim climbed into bed, but he was still pliable enough to be pulled up against Jim's chest and cuddled. Jim found out that he made the cutest little moaning sounds when Jim rubbed his back while he slept. His hand was still moving in lazy strokes when he finally nodded off. 

Sunday morning the hardon that woke Jim up was not his own. Blair's dick was poking insistently into Jim's thigh, creating a damp circle of heat on his sensitive skin. Jim tried to edge away some, but Blair's dick just seemed to follow him wherever he went. It was kind of funny to think that Blair's dick was just as persistent as the rest of the man. 

Jim smiled as he lifted the comforter and gazed down at the fabric of Blair's boxers pulled taut over the straining flesh. It looked like shoe size was really not a good indicator of dick size. Jim had always thought that Blair had cute little feet. His dick did not look little as it poked and stretched the plaid flannel. 

He wasn't sure about the cute part. He'd never thought of dicks as anything but ugly before. When Jim had been ten, he'd overheard his mother tell his father that there was nothing beautiful about a man's "twinkie". For two whole months, he thought she'd been talking about the snack food. 

Then, one day after school, he was taking a shortcut through Bayside Park when he heard Jay Palmer ask Lisa Washburn to touch his "twinkie". Jim had peeked through the forsythia bushes that sheltered the park bench they were sitting on from the main path. Jay had his dick hanging out of his pants. The end was shiny and it seemed to be pointing at Lisa without Jay even having to touch it. Jay kept talking to Lisa, begging her to touch him while Jim watched in fascination. Finally, Lisa gave in, wrinkled her nose and touched it with one finger. Jay immediately threw his head back and sprayed come onto Lisa's skirt. 

Jim had thought it was the coolest trick he'd ever seen. Lisa was grossed out and started crying and Jay just laughed at her. Lisa had finally screamed to keep that "disgusting thing" away from her and stormed off as Jay had tucked himself back in his jeans and sauntered after her. 

That was the last time Jim had ever really looked at another guy's erection. A couple months later, he started really noticing his own hardons and while it took a few more years for him to be able to shoot come, his own dick was all he really was concerned with from then on. He just seemed to instinctively know that he wasn't supposed to look at other guys. Even in the service ... those huge communal showers ... Jim always kept his eyes cast up. It was way safer that way. 

Until now. Now he was staring at Blair's dick and he had to admit that he was more than a little curious about it, so he reached down and very gently touched it. Blair made a different little moaning sound that sounded like a happy noise so Jim touched him some more. He rubbed his index finger against the dampest area and felt the slight indentation of the slit, then slid it down outlining the head. 

It was really weird and dangerous and more than a little arousing to be touching another guy's dick and soon Jim had a hardon of his own to deal with. Blair, it seemed, could sleep through anything, so Jim figured he'd never know if Jim kind of rubbed his own dick against Blair's. He couldn't get as much sensation as he wanted with the cloth barriers, so he pulled his dick free, then very carefully parted the fabric of Blair's boxers. 

In the dim morning light, Jim could see the drop of pre-come pooled at the slit. He licked his lips at the thought of what that must taste like. Touching his finger to the head, he wiped up the bit of moisture and brought it to his lips. A little salty ... a little sweet. Must be the beer they'd had the night before. Jim pushed the fabric of Blair's boxers further away and traced a large vein with his finger. He could feel Blair's pulse pounding away ... way too rapid for sleep. 

"Oh fuck." 

"If you're good," Blair murmured into Jim's ear. 

"How long ..." 

"Can't you tell?" Blair replied cheekily. 

Jim's voice got all funny as he sputtered, "I mean how long have you been awake." 

Blair turned a little and kissed Jim's shoulder. 

"How long have you been playing with my dick?" 

Jim didn't really know how to answer that. Blair didn't seem mad. As a matter of fact, he seemed pretty damn happy. Jim brought a hand up and cupped Blair's face, running his thumb back and forth over that wonderful mouth before angling it so he could see right into Blair's eyes. The look on Blair's face stunned him. The bright blue eyes were open wide and seemed to glow with love. Blair's beautiful mouth was set in a radiant smile. Rather than answer, Jim leaned down and kissed Blair softly. 

"It's about fucking time," Blair said dreamily as he ended the kiss. 

Jim ignored the aside and rolled the two of them so that he was poised over Blair. Winding his fingers in sable curls, Jim bent down and proceeded to kiss all the smart-ass comments out of his partner. As their mouths got to know each other, their dicks introduced themselves properly. They were soon sliding together in a mobile full body press. Now Jim's hips seemed to have a mind of their own as they gleefully thrust away at Blair's body in a series of erratic bumps and grinds. 

When Jim came, his whole body shuddered. Blair held on tightly, coaxing Jim further into his arms and trapping their dicks between them. Blair rained soft kisses on Jim's face as he fought a losing battle of control with his own body. When he was finally still, Blair flipped him onto his back, crawled up his body and shoved his cock into Jim's mouth. 

"That's right, Jim. I knew you'd be great cocksucker," Blair moaned as he thrust into Jim's mouth. 

Jim tried to agree, but his mouth was full of Blair. He grabbed Blair by the waist to slow down his thrusts, but when he looked up into Blair's eyes, it was all he could do to keep from swallowing the man whole. Sweat covered Blair's forehead and his hair hung in a satiny curtain around his face. The effect was almost ethereal. If he'd ever thought Blair was beautiful before, it was nothing compared to how he looked at that moment. 

Blair's lips were pursed in concentration and his eyes were glued to Jim's as he fucked Jim's mouth. Suddenly he threw his head back and opened his mouth in a silent cry. Jim felt the burn of semen as it flowed through Blair's dick and filled his mouth. The creamy liquid oozed out between his lips. 

"Swallow it," Blair ordered as he pulled his dick out of Jim's mouth. "All of it." 

Jim gulped down what he could, and then Blair used his finger to guide the remaining come into Jim's mouth. The blast of flavor that he'd tasted earlier was a thousand times magnified. It was the very essence of Blair. 

"I love you, you know?" Blair said as he leaned down to lick the remaining traces from Jim's lips. 

Jim took Blair's head in his hands and rolled them over so he was again on top. Looking down into the dark blue eyes of his partner, Jim was overcome with joy. A huge smile spread across his face as he saw the love he felt reflected back at him. 

"I love you too, Blair." 

Monday morning Jim was up early and fixing breakfast when Blair stumbled downstairs. 

"Hey babe," Jim called to him as he headed straight into the bathroom. "Breakfast'll be ready in ten minutes so get your cute little ass in gear." 

Blair gave him the finger over his shoulder and then slammed the bathroom door shut behind him. When he came out, he went to his old room for clothes. Jim was spooning out the scrambled eggs when Blair finally emerged fully dressed. Instead of taking a seat at the table, Blair grabbed the pan from Jim, tossed it into the sink, threw his arms around Jim's neck and proceeded to kiss him senseless. Jim's hands ended up on his ass while he pressed his body into the counter edge. 

"Eggs are getting cold," Jim murmured between kisses. 

"Fuck the eggs," was Blair's breathy reply. 

"Not nearly as much fun as fucking you," Jim moaned as Blair slid his hand down the front of Jim's trousers. 

"You're sick," Blair giggled. 

"Come on, baby," Jim said as he pulled away from his lover. "Don't wanna be late today." 

Blair sat down on the kitchen chair with a pout on his face. It didn't last long as hunger overcame horniness and he started scarfing down the eggs. 

"Hey, do you think anybody'll notice the difference in us today?" he asked as casually as possible. 

Jim held the salt shaker in mid-air, a thoughtful look on his face. 

"Hmmm, let's see. They've already noticed you going out dressed like some kind of Goth queen. They've seen me come in to work looking like an aging rent boy. Pete Marchand thinks we have an open relationship and would like to join us in a three-way, by the way. Then there's the running conversation that Rhonda and Megan have on which one of us tops and Simon's little comments about what we really do when we're in the elevator alone. Oh and I can't forget the bet that H has with Rafe on when we'll announce that we're adopting a child together. I think it's pretty safe to say that we've been giving some pretty strong signals so far. We might as well wear signs that say 'I'm fucking my roommate' and just clear up all the speculation once and for all." 

"Awww, let's keep 'em guessing," Blair grinned. "That is unless they catch us necking in the garage which is a definite possibility if you leave the house wearing those jeans you had on the other day." 

Eyebrows bobbing for emphasis, Blair stabbed at his eggs for another mouthful. 

"I'll wear those if you promise that someday you'll wear your shoulder holster and nothing else," Jim said softly. 

"To work?" Blair gasped, spitting eggs across the table as he spoke. 

"No, Einstein! Here!" 

"Oh. Okay. I'll do that if you'll let me spank you sometime," Blair countered with a twinkle in his eyes. 

"Hey Chief? How much sick time you got coming?" Jim asked, pushing aside his unfinished breakfast. 

"Enough for today, anyhow," Blair answered. "Race you to bed?" 

Blair was already up and moving as Jim called, "You're on!" 

The End 


End file.
